


Reinvent Love ('Cause I Can't Get Enough of Yours, Babe)

by Marks



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-12
Updated: 2008-12-12
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Barry White. He's the master of seduction."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reinvent Love ('Cause I Can't Get Enough of Yours, Babe)

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when Brendon tells Spanish magazines what music he'd use to seduce someone else. I reference a lot of Barry White songs, but the only one that's not explicitly named in the fic is "Gotta Be Where You Are."

**_Which album would you use to seduce a person of the opposite sex?_ **

"I guess this sounds typical, but clearly Barry White. He's the master of seduction."

**And which one would you use to seduce someone of the same sex?**

"The same (laughs)."

+

It's way too early for this.

Ryan puts his head down on the little table in the kitchenette and squeezes his eyes shut. Brendon's iPod is hooked up to the radio and blaring Barry White so the bass is rumbling everywhere, through his feet and traveling up his legs and settling in his chest. That's not even counting his pounding head. Ryan groans and covers his face with his arm, even though that doesn't help, like, at _all_.

He shifts his arm and cracks open one eye when a coffee mug thumps down next to his head, finding Brendon beaming back at him as he pours. Brendon gets maybe two hours of sleep a night and he's still up and bouncing for interviews at the crack of dawn, which Ryan will never understand no matter how long they know each other. It's like when they were scooping out lifetime supplies of energy Brendon got three scoops instead of two and it spills over into everything that he does. Usually that doesn't bother Ryan, usually he _loves_ it, but not when he's nursing a little bit of a hangover and mentally comparing Brendon to Raisin Bran. Because seriously.

Brendon slides into the booth next to Ryan and nudges the mug toward him until Ryan curls his fingers around the handle. "Coffee goes in the mouth," Brendon reminds him and laughs when Ryan grunts back. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're beautiful in the morning?"

"Fuck off," Ryan grumbles, but he lifts his head long enough to notice Brendon has already added the milk for him. Three torn packs of sugar sit empty on the table.

Brendon drops his head onto Ryan's shoulder and pats his hand sympathetically. "My darling, I can't get enough of your love, babe," he sings, in the same octave as Barry, the sound rumbling against Ryan's shoulder, deep, in time with the radio. Ryan wakes up at that, but that's definitely just the sudden headrush of caffeine and sugar, not because after all this time sometimes Ryan forgets that Brendon can do... _that_. Shit. Ryan takes another gulp and tries not to choke when Brendon keeps on singing.

+

Breakfast turns into forty-five minutes of Brendon Urie and his Barry White Megamix, all sung to Ryan complete with dramatic hand gestures, while Ryan silently talks himself out of rewriting all of their arrangements for keys too low for Jon and him to reach, just to hear Brendon in that octave always. Their fans would love it most likely, but Brendon's always insisting that they _all_ have to sing _together_ as a _band_ , and Ryan is starting to suspect he wouldn't survive it anyway. Plus, he's pretty sure he'll never hear 'Never, Never Gonna Give You Up' again without associating it with having a Pop-Tart broken into pieces and fed to him from Brendon's fingers.

It's not like Brendon hasn't always been weird, but this is a different weird. Maybe Zack gave him back his Red Bull. Maybe Brendon wants to do a Barry White cover and this is his way of telling him. Maybe --

"Ow!" Maybe Spencer is flicking him in the head. Ryan glares up from the couch. "Douche."

Spencer twirls the end of his mustache thoughtfully before flicking Ryan in the head one more time. Facial hair has gone to his head. Uh, mentally.

"I yelled your name like fifteen times. The van's here, we have to go," Spencer says and pauses for a second before going in for one more flick. Ryan hasn't been his best friend for sixteen years for nothing though and manages to grab his wrist before the attack.

Ryan uses Spencer's arm as leverage to pull himself to his feet. "I'm paying attention _now_. You're so violent."

"Yeah, well." Spencer gives a half-shrug, jerking Ryan's hand away in the process. "You're the one who wanted me to be a drummer. I blame all of my violent tendencies on you."

"You picked the drums."

"Only because I wanted you to keep both of your _eyes_ , Mr. Rock Band Is An Extreme Sport."

"I threw one stick," Ryan protests. "One. I'm not the one who hit himself in the face with a drumstick four times last month."

Spencer puts his hands on his hips. Seriously, Ryan doesn't care how much chest hair he has now, Spencer can still be a little bitch when he wants to be. Ryan wrinkles his nose back and sticks out his tongue. Then they both crack up and Spencer nudges his hip.

"Move it, unless you want Zack coming after both of us."

"He's not the boss of me," Ryan says, but he starts gathering up his shit quickly anyway. Zack's _not_ the boss of him, but it's not like Ryan wants to be on his bad side, either. He's seen what can happen to fans and it's not exactly awesome.

Spencer grabs Ryan's bag from the end of the sofa and tosses it in Ryan's direction, making a derisive noise as Ryan slings it over his shoulder. Ryan doesn't understand what Spencer's problem is; it's totally a messenger bag and not a man purse even if Jon keeps calling it that.

"So," Spencer says, holding open the bus door as Ryan hops down the stairs, "why were you on Planet Spacey just now? Pete didn't send you another sad puppy story, right? Because I warned him about that."

Ryan laughs. "No, all of the puppies of the world are safe as far as I know. I just... have you noticed increased instances of Barry White on the bus?"

"Barry White is dead, Ryan." Spencer kicks the bus door shut and programs the lock. "Are you being haunted by his ghost? I mean, I know you're crazy, but I'm pretty sure seeing dead people reaches a whole new level of insanity I'm not prepared to deal with."

Ryan punches Spencer in the arm because he totally deserves it. He does it twice, in fact, just for emphasis. " _No_. Like... is Brendon singing a lot more Barry White than usual? To you?" he clarifies after a second.

Spencer shoots him a sideways glance that clearly states how crazy he thinks Ryan sounds. Okay, more crazy than usual. "No Barry," Spencer confirms. "He sang a quarter of The White Album to me yesterday afternoon until I shoved a dirty sock in his mouth to shut him up, and he totally got the Hot Pockets jingle stuck in my head for an hour last night. I almost killed him for that one; it's only two words long, how is that even possible? But no Barry."

"Weird." Ryan looks down at his feet. "Maybe he's just hinting at a cover."

"That's not a good idea," Spencer snorts. "Unless you like getting hit in the head with pre-teen panties."

"Yeah, no."

Ryan spots Jon giving Brendon a piggyback ride by the rental van that's taking them to their morning interview round then, so he jogs over. Brendon climbs off of Jon's back right away, grabbing Ryan's wrist and tugging him inside. Ryan pretends to be intensely interested in complimentary bottles of water in the cupholders because Spencer is still yelling something about underwear with the days of the week written on them.

Brendon claims the back bench for the two of them and uses Ryan's crotch as a pillow for the whole ride over, while Jon and Spencer argue over who gets to control the sunroof. Ryan rolls his eyes because his band is so weird.

+

Soundcheck that night is odd. _Pretty odd_ , hah, oh shut up. Ryan shakes his head to himself because maybe Spencer is right and he _is_ losing it.

One of Ryan's pedals is giving him trouble, which isn't a surprise. He has the worst luck with pedals and so two techs are fussing near his feet. He tries to be as helpful as possible but he still has these technical limitations that can be crazy frustrating for him. Not as bad as three years ago, both because he's mellowed out a lot and because he really has improved, but still. He's not Jon or Brendon when it comes to fixing this shit.

So the techs are trying to sort out Ryan's pedal issues and Ryan is so caught up in that that he doesn't even notice it when Brendon wanders over to the piano and starts playing until the giggles coming from a handful of venue employees gathered in the wings attract his attention. They're mostly girls about their age or a little younger, so Ryan isn't exactly surprised by their interest. He knows how hot Brendon can be when he sets his mind to it. Wasn't that one of his main selling points to Pete way back when? Well, that and Brendon's voice.

Ryan glances in Brendon's direction and finds Brendon already looking back. He's completely ignoring his impromptu audience, and there's not even any twisting around on the bench to grin at Spencer and Jon. The full force of Brendon's focus is on him.

The cliché about being the only two people in the room is a cliché for a reason, right? Ryan swallows involuntarily and widens his eyes when he recognizes "You're the First, the Last, My Everything." He probably wouldn't have even recognized it as yet another freaking Barry White song, except Brendon is singing in that crazy growly pitch again and Ryan just heard it over breakfast.

 _My sun, my moon, my guiding star,_ Brendon had sung and laughed hard, completely missing the start of the next line. _All the crazy sky imagery kind of reminds me of you, Ross. You think Barry wrote songs half-naked in his backyard too?_

Brendon grins at him and bites his lip as he fades out of the song, gaze flicking down to Ryan's feet. When Ryan finally looks down too, the techs are watching him expectantly and Ryan suddenly knows he spaced out again.

Over Barry _White_. Over _Brendon_. This is getting fucking ridiculous.

"I think it's fixed, Ry," Adam tells him and Ryan nods. Brendon comes over then, too, squeezing Ryan's arm and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

"All good?"

Yeah, all good not counting the massive concentration problem he's suddenly developed. Ryan nods again and Brendon nuzzles his nose against Ryan's throat.

Soundcheck continues normally except for the part where Ryan completely forgets how to play guitar. He ignores the confused looks Jon and Brendon keep shooting in his direction, and refuses to turn around even though he can feel Spencer's eyes boring into the back of his head.

This is... not good.

+

"Good set tonight."

Ryan hums agreeably, passing the joint back to Jon. Even with the problems at soundcheck, the show really had been one of their better ones, no problems with the equipment and Brendon was really on. Sometimes Ryan thinks that Brendon subsists on audience approval. He needs it in his guts, inside him, to live.

They're lying on their backs outside in some field in Pennsylvania or upstate New York or somewhere like that; Ryan can't even remember right now even though it's on the tip of his brain. It's not a hotel night and the bus isn't due to leave for another couple of hours, but cramming himself into his bunk isn't exactly something he wants to do even if it is practically winter.

Because, like, the grass is all soft and scratchy underneath him and there are a million zillion stars outside. Ryan extends his arm, pointing, and trying to count. Out loud, he guesses, because Jon laughs and rolls into his side.

"Still such a fucking lightweight," Jon says and Ryan wrinkles his forehead. He lost count and has to start all over again.

"I can't feel my elbows," Ryan replies. It's a completely logical response.

"I can't feel my toes," Jon says matter-of-factly, sounding not at all alarmed by this. Ryan will never understand Jon. He'd be scared if his toes went missing.

"I can't get enough of your love, babe." Ryan starts humming, flat and an octave too high. It's all wrong. "All wrong."

Jon props himself up on his elbow. "What's all wrong? This shit is good. Spencer has the best hook-ups. How does he even have connections in East Bumblefuck anyway? You guys are from..." Jon waves the joint around, then looks at his hand and grins lazily like he just realized what he was holding, and takes another hit.

"West Bumblefuck," Ryan supplies.

"Yeah, there. With the tall buildings that are tall. And shiny."

Ryan nods. That makes sense in Ryan's head.

"So what's wrong?"

Jon has a really good memory for a stoner. Ryan admires that about him -- admires it enough to steal the pot back again. He inhales deep, doubling because Jon is staring up at the inky black sky and he figures he can get away with it, holding the smoke in his lungs long enough to make him cough.

Jon taps on Ryan's chest once the worst of it has passed, looking down expectantly. He hasn't forgotten his question, which, fuck. Ryan sighs.

"How do you feel about Barry White? You can be completely honest," Ryan says earnestly.

"Sexy dude," Jon says, considering. That's one of the awesomest things about Jon, the way he considers really dumb things seriously unless they're so dumb that no one should ever consider them. Then he's even meaner than Spencer. So this isn't the dumbest thing ever asked and that makes Ryan feel better. "His songs are, you know, sexual music. Sexual healing."

"That's not Barry White," Ryan says.

Jon shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. Barry White is seduction music," he says slowly. "You play it when you're about to get down with your bad self."

"Down with your bad self," Ryan echoes, and they both dissolve into giggles. Then Ryan stops himself abruptly with a gasp.

"What?" Jon asks.

"Brendon likes Barry White." Ryan sits straight up. "A lot. He keeps singing it to me. To _me_."

"I liked the episode of _The Simpsons_ he was in," Jon says.

Ryan scratches his head. "Brendon isn't on _The Simpsons_ , Jon. They're cartoons."

"Not Brendon. Barry White." Jon pulls Ryan back down to the ground and offers him another hit. The joint is almost burned down to his fingertips now, so Ryan pinches it off and sucks on his fingertips. "His episode is about Whacking Day."

"Whacking Day. Whaaaaacking Day," Ryan says around his fingers and starts laughing again, giggling so hard he gets the hiccups. He doesn't even remember what they were talking about when he stops, but there are seriously a million zillion stars outside. The universe stretches on forever.

Jon has fallen asleep on Ryan's stomach.

"Jon, Jon," Ryan says, alarmed, poking at Jon's head to wake him up. "I can't feel my knees."

+

After Zack tells them that the bus driver is planning on leaving their faily asses behind, Jon and Ryan crawl back on board and Ryan falls asleep in the back lounge, but he wakes up when someone starts bouncing on the end of the pullout. Brendon flops down next to him, but Ryan is at the tail end of his buzz and too sleepy-warm to be annoyed. He lets Brendon wriggle under his arm, petting his hair absently with his free hand. It's nice the way Brendon makes tiny happy sounds, rumbling against his shoulder. He's like a cat or a puppy. Ryan scratches behind Brendon's ear.

"You smell like grass," Brendon tells him, words muffled by Ryan's shirt.

A slow smile slips across Ryan's face. "Shocking," he deadpans.

Brendon laughs and lifts his head so they're eye to eye. "Not that grass." He pauses. "Not just that grass. You smell like camping."

"Jon and I went outside for awhile before the bus left. It was nice."

"And you didn't invite me to roll around in a field with you two?" Brendon says, clucking his tongue. "I'm hurt, really."

"You were tricking Cash out of his money as we were leaving and we didn't want to bother you," Ryan says. "I was pretty impressed by his complete lack of poker face."

Brendon nods solemnly. "He might as well hold a mirror up to his cards. I appreciate your support for my gambling habits."

"Is it even gambling when it's a sure thing?"

"Not even a little."

They both crack up and Ryan shifts over to give Brendon more room. Brendon's hand ends up right above Ryan's waistband where his t-shirt has ridden up, so it's all skin-to-skin. It's weird how this has probably happened a million times without Ryan noticing anything, but now all he can feel is the press of Brendon's fingers against his stomach. They're cold, but warming up from their shared heat and it makes Ryan shiver when Brendon shifts his hand close to his hip. Ryan sucks in an involuntary breath.

"You okay?" Brendon asks. His voice is quiet in the dark, and Ryan supposes it's good that he put his head on Ryan's shoulder again because eye contact can result in some pretty weird stuff happening. Dangerous stuff.

"I think so," Ryan says. There's a lilt at the end of his sentence, a question that really shouldn't be there. It's not like Brendon just tossed out a trick question. But there have been so many years between them of trying to make something into nothing, until it really _was_ nothing, or at least a different, more comfortable kind of something. If it's changing again, Ryan doesn't know how okay he is with that.

Brendon starts humming under his breath and that quickly turns into singing, which should be helpful. He probably thinks he's being helpful, in fact, and Ryan appreciates that his heart is in the right place. But hearing _here, right here, right here is where I'm gonna stay_ out of Brendon's mouth isn't exactly soothing, given the circumstances.

"Wait," Ryan says, realizing something, "isn't that song about dancing?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, we're not exactly dancing right now, given the whole lying down thing."

Brendon chuckles and shifts around again. He doesn't, Ryan notices, move his hand from Ryan's hip. "I can dance horizontally, Ross," he says and yeah, _yeah_ , that is a definite eyebrow waggle. Ryan knows Brendon is making fun of him, but he's not sure it's only that.

It's like... well, it's like a couple of years ago, the way Brendon used to look at him, only Ryan's finally ready to look back. He bites his bottom lip and doesn't look away from Brendon's face. His hand finds its way to the back of Brendon's head again, fingers sifting through the hair at the nape of Brendon's neck, and it's Brendon who finally breaks the eye contact, clearing his throat in an obvious way and rolling onto his side.

And that's really confusing, but Ryan tries to push it out of his head when Brendon settles down against his chest and starts humming softly again. It's really nice having him here, way better than being alone, Ryan thinks sleepily before he dozes off.

+

"Out! Up!" Zack pounds on the lounge door. "Attention teen idols: The time for beauty sleep is over. We are parked in front of one of New Jersey's finest diners and if you're not all out of this bus in fifteen minutes, there will be _no coffee for anyone_. Do you want to be the one to explain that to Jon Walker? He will make sad puppy faces at _you_."

Ryan groans and sits up, shaking out his arm where it fell asleep under the weight of Brendon's body. He scrubs his hands over his face because, no, he doesn't want Jon to be decaffeinated. When Jon hasn't had his coffee he is a gigantic pain in the ass.

"Get up, Brendon," Ryan croaks, poking Brendon in the arm.

Brendon steals all of the covers from Ryan's side and throws them over his head. "Five more minutes, Mom," he mumbles, and Ryan shakes his head. Seriously, if Brendon's mom sounds like Ryan in the morning, he's going to have to completely rewrite his mental image of her.

"Brendon." Ryan rolls off the pullout bed and stretches. He walks around to Brendon's side, leaning over to speak into his ear. "Wake up. Please?" His breath makes the little sticking up hairs framing Brendon's face fan out a little. It's kind of fascinating. When Brendon doesn't respond, he yanks the blankets away and throws them on the floor.

Brendon's eyes finally flutter open and he turns enough that their faces are maybe an inch apart. A sleepy grin spreads across Brendon's face. "Mmm, hi there." Then his eyes get all big and he shoots up into a sitting position, which is great for Jon's coffee-getting chances but not so great for Ryan's head, which is still _right there_.

"Ow," Ryan complains. He rubs his forehead, mirroring Brendon's actions. They look at each other for bumps and then Brendon gets the giggles, probably because of the sour face Ryan can feel himself making. "Spencer flicked my head yesterday, you clocked me today. I do occasionally need my brain, so if you could all stop damaging my head, that'd be just great."

"I'm sorry, baby," Brendon coos. He climbs out of bed, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, a completely different person than the cover-stealer from a minute ago. The glowing red numbers of the room's digital clock show that Brendon got about four times his normal amount of sleep. Ryan tries not to overthink how that happened when they were sharing a bed, focusing instead on how Brendon will be a fucking Energizer bunny all day today.

This isn't much of a comfort, as it turns out.

Zack bangs on the door again. "Ten minutes to go, campers," he warns.

"Are we going somewhere?" Brendon runs his hands through his hair, which only makes it stand up more. It's cute. Adorable, in fact. Ryan has to stop staring.

"Diner. I guess we're on a tight schedule," Ryan says, turning away so he doesn't have to acknowledge the sudden, stupid embarrassment he feels over having to change in front of Brendon. Even stoned Ryan had managed to pull on a pair of basketball shorts, but Brendon had fallen asleep completely dressed. He could probably change his t-shirt because truthfully he's a little rank, but other than that, Brendon's good to go.

Of course the other option would have been Brendon sleeping naked like he usually does, and jeez, that's not a path Ryan needs to go down while he has his pants off. Ryan hastily grabs a pair of corduroys that he'd thrown over the back of a chair and pulls them on.

"I don't even know what day of the week it is," Brendon says, once Ryan's ready. He rubs at his forehead again. "Sorry about your head."

"Not as sorry as I am about your face," Ryan shoots back, making Brendon flip his middle finger in Ryan's direction. "You can make it up to me with waffles."

"Ooh, waffles!" Brendon agrees easily, holding the door open for Ryan. Neither of them is prepared for the round of applause and wolf whistles when they emerge, courtesy of Spencer, Jon, and three-fifths of The Cab.

"Waffles _and_ French toast," Ryan throws over his shoulder, grabbing his oversized sunglasses off the counter and slipping them on so he doesn't have to look at any of these fools. "And chocolate chip pancakes." Brendon's no help since he's just giggling and easily agreeing to Ryan's demands.

"Romantic," Spencer tells him as Ryan tries to get off the bus with a little of his dignity still intact. Ryan is tempted to wrestle him to the ground and fight with him like they did when they were little, only Spencer is about twice his size now and anyway he's nice enough to help Ryan back to his feet when he trips and falls on his face after the last stair. So much for dignity.

Brendon is there to help after Ryan finishes dusting himself off, wiping a smudge from Ryan's cheek with his thumb. At least he didn't lick it first. "You can have all the food you want, bottomless stomach." He throws a grin in the direction of the bus. "I won a _lot_ of money off Cash."

That really does make Ryan feel better. Especially because Cash is just hopping off of Panic's bus and totally overhears everything. His face turns an awesome shade of dark red, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Strawberries," Ryan says. "I want those on my waffles, too."

+

When Ryan slides into a booth, Brendon climbs right in to sit next to him. Spencer and Jon settle across the table and grin knowingly.

"Shut up," Ryan tells them.

"I didn't say anything," Spencer says. "Your imagination is running away with you again."

"Your mustache looks like a weasel died over your lip."

"Your hair," Spencer begins but Brendon interrupts with, "Jon, look! An entire coffee menu on the back. A _whole page of espresso drinks_."

Jon's eyes light up and he starts enthusiastically telling Spencer all about the special syrups they can choose from. Ryan snorts and starts idly flipping through the little jukebox mounted on the table, scooting closer to the wall when Brendon looks over with interest.

"Not enough places have these," Brendon says, and Ryan silently agrees. They're probably a dying part of restaurant life. The fact that the song selections stop somewhere in the mid-90s seems to support that theory, and the place they're in is a relic, all vinyl benches and waitresses in aprons working a counter.

Ryan digs into his pockets and finds a few quarters. "Wanna play something?"

Brendon's face lights up as musical joy overtakes him, and he reaches over Ryan to finish flipping through their choices. He stops and grins suddenly, first at the jukebox and then at Ryan, plugging the money and his selections in so quickly that Ryan doesn't even know what he picked. He hopes it isn't 'Rumpshaker' considering that incident they had in Delaware two years ago.

The song starts up just as Brendon leans back, satisfied, dropping his arm around Ryan's shoulders. Ryan doesn't place it until he feels Brendon's nose against his cheek and Barry White starts up with the _baby_ s and the _darling_ s and the _please don't make me wait too long_ s.

And Ryan gives in. He's already laughing quietly when Brendon starts singing along, staring down at his placemat and grinning hard enough to hurt his cheeks.

"You really like Barry White, don't you?" Ryan asks. He doesn't turn his head because he likes Brendon singing in his ear and doesn't want to stop that.

"Of course I do, Ry," Brendon says with a low chuckle. "Who doesn't?" Ryan can feel Brendon's breath against his cheek and wonders if his hair is fanning out the way Brendon's did back on the bus.

When the song ends, Brendon pulls away and Ryan lifts his head, only to find Spencer watching him with a knowing look on his face. The next time Ryan starts a band and goes on tour for seventy-five percent of the year, he's not doing it with someone who's known him for so long. That's really backfired on him.

+

Ryan sticks pretty close to Brendon when they get back on the bus because he knows when Spencer wants to talk to him alone from years of knowing when Spencer wants to talk to him alone and also because Brendon had ended breakfast by reaching over to Ryan's plate and drawing a heart in the leftover syrup. The heart itself hadn't made Spencer look any different than usual, but then Brendon started licking his fingers and Ryan couldn't help watching. And maybe swallowing hard before looking away and catching Spencer's eyes again.

Which, to be fair, says enough in and of itself. Ryan reads Spencer about as well as he reads himself. He's not sure what _else_ Spencer needs to say.

So when Brendon goes into the back of the bus to warm up and mentally prepare for that night's show -- pretty much the only alone time Brendon ever requires -- Ryan plans on some quality time hiding out in his bunk, wearing his biggest, most soundproof headphones. Most of the time that works, Ryan claiming he needs solitary confinement for his creative process, only he's moved past a lot of his pretentious affectations and they've been doing most of their songwriting together recently and buses are too small to really hide effectively and Spencer can see right through him anyway and, besides, he's already pulling back Ryan's curtain.

"Hey, man."

Also, he brought Jon.

"Hello," Ryan says carefully, pulling his headphones down so they're hanging around his neck. He pushes himself into a sitting position, leaning out of his bunk with his feet hanging over the edge as he flashes them his blandest, most innocent smile. "Did you guys need me for something?"

"Don't play dumb," Spencer says. "I mean, I know you're dumb but you're not that dumb." He and Ryan sigh at the same time.

Jon grins, slow and easy. The worst part about Spencer and Jon confronting him together is they've perfected this annoying good cop-bad cop routine; the only defense Ryan has against it is that Spencer and Ryan have a confrontation plan so devastating that actual police officers would probably be scared. Sometimes Ryan can use Spencer's tricks against him.

"That was a fun breakfast," Jon says.

"I had a fun lunch, too," Ryan tells him. "Never underestimate the joy of eating Lucky Charms right out of the box. You can pick out all of the marshmallow pieces and just eat those."

"Ryan," Spencer warns again, this time with his palm flat against the top bunk, leaning down a little menacingly. Shit, they should have gotten a single spotlight to shine in his eyes. Setting the proper mood is important.

"That does sound fun," Jon says. He sits next to Ryan and puts his arm around his shoulders. "You know what else is fun?"

Ryan makes an unhappy noise. The good cop half of this game is so much scarier. "No, what?"

"Still remembering conversations even though you were a little fucked up the night before."

"Comparing notes because the other half of your band is busy sharing beds and giggling over lunch cereal is fun, too," Spencer puts in. Ryan purses his lips and glares, and both Spencer and Jon start laughing.

Laughing at _him_. This is so not that funny.

"Brendon and Ryan, sitting in a tree," Jon sing-songs and gets cut off when Ryan claps a hand over his mouth.

"How long?" Spencer asks before answering himself. "Not long at all, right? You're so obvious when you have a crush, I don't know how anyone ever got it into their heads that you're the mysterious one."

Ryan pouts more. "I'm mysterious."

Jon and Spencer laugh at him some more.

"It's cute," Jon assures him. "'What do you think about Barry White, Jon? Brendon keeps singing him to me and I want him to do it more and also when he's naked, Jon.'"

"I never said that!"

"What was that?" Spencer asks. "I couldn't hear you over the cartoon hearts floating out of your syrup."

"Hate." Ryan feels particularly articulate today. "So much hate."

Spencer sits on Ryan's other side and pats his knee. "Brendon doesn't know."

Ryan wrinkles his nose and puts his head on Spencer's shoulder. "I thought you said I was obvious."

"He'll never let himself believe it," Spencer says knowingly. "I mean, he might be flirting back, but he's also spent a lot of time talking himself out of the possibility before." Ryan knows this already, knows that Spencer knows this, too, even if they've never specifically talked about it.

"So this." Ryan closes his eyes. "This is okay with the two of you? Because I can't-- there are more important things than my-- I mean."

"Ryan, stop," Jon says. Ryan opens his eyes again and looks at him. "We'll adjust if we need to. We have before for other reasons, right? None of us -- Brendon included -- wants this fucked up."

"Okay," Ryan says in a small voice.

"I'm just sorry that I can't see myself using the 'hurt him and I'll kill you' speech on him. He'll probably pout at me and I hate when he does that," Spencer says, and Ryan laughs, sharp and sudden.

+

There isn't really a chance for Ryan to talk to Brendon the way he needs to, or maybe he just convinces himself of that, so when the time rolls around for soundcheck and fan signings, Brendon is still oblivious to Ryan's recent world-shifting revelation. Ryan puts it aside, though, because they have a performance to focus on and it's not like they don't have lots of time. He's not going anywhere and he hopes Brendon isn't either.

Brendon and Ryan get sandwiched between Spencer and Jon at the signing table, and a fan has just moved on to Jon while the next girl is still busy being starstruck by Brendon. Ryan leans over to see what he's signing just as Brendon laughs and says, "Is this me in Spanish? I haven't even seen this interview yet."

The girl giggles and nods. "My friend in Spain mailed the magazine to me and we wanted you to sign it. I can't believe some of the questions they asked you."

"Which one did you like best?" Brendon is leaning forward and Ryan knows from experience that he's totally leading up to something. Ryan tries to read the questions but his two years of high school Spanish are failing him pretty badly right now.

"The Barry White ones. That's useful information!" she says, and then giggles again, covering her face like she can't believe what she just said. She's with another girl who starts laughing too and elbowing her in the side.

"Well," Brendon says, waggling his eyebrows, "I meant that answer. Barry White is the master of seduction. I'd totally use him if I really wanted to catch someone else's attention."

Ryan sits straight up in his chair, attention caught.

The girls are still red in the face when they give Ryan another article to sign and Ryan can feel his face going hot, too. He's probably blushing when he shoots Brendon a funny look, but all Brendon does is smile innocently at him.

Ryan looks away and signs the next person's CD, making small talk, trying not to shake his head in disbelief. God, he can be so dense sometimes.

During picture time, Brendon and Ryan go back-to-back with matching fingerguns in classic Charlie's Angels poses while the fans still waiting for their turns make cooing noises.

"I was set up," Ryan says, tilting his head back to breathe into Brendon's ear, not missing Brendon's shudder. Zack calls for a reshoot because the camera he's using hates him, and Ryan and Brendon turn around to shoot each other head-on this time.

"The jig is up, I guess," Brendon says, cocking an imaginary trigger. "Are you upset?"

Ryan gets high-fives from the fangirls. "I'm not upset. What's the opposite of that?" He turns toward Brendon wearing his blandest expression and, after a moment, the shock on Brendon's face melts into a brilliant smile.

+

Ryan Ross is a consummate professional, so he performs that night completely putting aside how he and Brendon are finally on the same page and about how all of that happened because of the stupidest, most successful seduction in history. He does this by letting Brendon invade his space constantly, by grinning like an idiot through the entire set, and by backing up when Brendon hooks his chin over Ryan's shoulder during their final song, tightly trapping Brendon between Ryan and Jon.

It's all part of the show, after all.

He manages to remain calm afterward, through stage breakdown and the flurry of post-show showers. Ryan even shares a beer with Brendon while waiting for the tour caravan to head to a hotel for the night, trying to concentrate on drinking without choking. He's pretty successful even with Brendon restlessly jiggling his leg against Ryan's. They can't stop sharing smiles, even with Spencer's eyerolling. It's nice, all of the anticipation, but he's really relieved when Brendon grabs keycards from Zack and declares Ryan his roommate for the night. After waiting for hours, ignoring a drunken catcall from Jon is just plain easy.

"So," Brendon says, after they toss their bags carelessly into a corner.

"So." Ryan feels a little awkward now and silly for feeling that way, considering how many rooms and beds and cramped spaces he's shared with Brendon over the years.

They're standing in the middle of the room instead of sinking down on comfortable beds. It's a little stupid. They're a lot stupid. Ryan can't quite meet Brendon's eyes until Brendon clears his throat.

"Do you want to order room service?" Brendon asks. He looks nervous now, too, not anymore of a master of seduction than he's ever been. He's just a dork whose Barry White plan happened to work.

Ryan grins. "Yeah, I want a grilled cheese."

"And fries?"

" _Endless_ fries," Ryan confirms.

Brendon laughs. "I'll see what I can do."

Ryan settles on the bed with the remote and takes a few deep breaths while Brendon calls for room service. Any jitters he would have felt over getting on the bed even out while watching a rerun of 'Rock of Love' and half-listening to Brendon's argument with the front desk over whether or not there's such a thing as too much ketchup. Brendon smiles tentatively once he hangs up; Ryan pats the spot next to him and Brendon scrambles over.

It's easier this way, one arm casually around Brendon's shoulders, dissecting Bret Michaels's life choices. Normal, yeah, but not exactly what Ryan wants.

Brendon turns his head, bringing their faces much closer together and tentatively asks, "Do you want to talk about...?" just as there are three loud knocks on the door, making them both jump.

"Room service!" the person on the other side yells. Ryan gets up to let the bellhop wheel the cart into the room and tips him generously for postponing the weirdness for a few minutes more. When Ryan comes back, Brendon is lifting the lids off of the food, and maybe there's not really such thing as endless fries, but Brendon certainly gave it his best effort. There's also cake that probably contains all of the chocolate within fifty miles.

And okay, Ryan really is hungry, that wasn't a lie, but the food orgy that follows is definitely at least a little bit about putting off things a little longer. Ryan's stomach is flipping and that's not really a good thing with that much food in it, and he's not talking much. Neither is Brendon, which is even more unnerving. The way Ryan sees it is he has two choices: He could get up and kiss Brendon right now and see if there's anything between them or he could be an avoidant coward.

Ryan stands up, takes two steps toward Brendon, and says, "I've got to brush my teeth." Then he flees to the bathroom.

Ryan collapses against the back of the shut door and sighs. Avoidant coward it is. He pushes off the door and gets a look at himself in the mirror, and it's not a pretty sight. There's a wild look in his eyes; it reminds him of what Hobo looked like when she got caught chewing up one of Ryan's antique dining room chairs. It's not like he's doing anything _wrong_ , though. Ryan grabs the edge of the counter and squints, telling himself not to be stupid; he wants this, _Brendon_ wants this enough to try what he thinks passes for seduction techniques, and just because there are years of history between them doesn't mean it can't work.

So Ryan brushes his teeth, flosses, and splashes water on his face, giving his reflection one last determined nod before steeling his shoulders and walking back out into the room.

"Shit, I thought you fell in," Brendon says as he rushes by Ryan and slams the bathroom door shut behind him. Ryan sits on the edge of one bed and buries his face in his hands.

When Brendon comes back out two minutes later, Ryan lifts his head and looks at him. Brendon smiles a little nervously and tucks his hair behind his ear. Ryan silently holds out his hand and Brendon stumbles over to take it. He bends down as Ryan stretches up and then their lips meet, just that easy.

It's a really nice kiss, Ryan thinks, sighing just enough that Brendon can slip his tongue into his mouth. They break apart after a few moments and Ryan laughs a little breathlessly.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Brendon begins, but Ryan rolls his eyes and cuts him off with another kiss, a harder one that has Brendon's stubble scraping up against Ryan's chin. Ryan shifts backward on the bed and tugs on Brendon's arm again; Brendon instantly follows and they kiss again and again, until the back of Brendon's shirt is riding up and Ryan's lips start to hurt, but he doesn't want to stop pressing their open mouths together, sharing breath.

Brendon traces a pattern against Ryan's chest and starts to hum, almost absently, more 'Can't Get Enough of Your Love.'

Ryan clamps a hand firmly over Brendon's mouth and rolls on top of him, smiling at Brendon's wide-eyed look of surprise.

"You can stop with the seduction techniques, dumbass. You've got me," Ryan says.

Brendon's eyes are crinkled at the corners, so Ryan is only a little grossed out when Brendon licks his palm.

"Hey!" Ryan protests. "You were absolutely going to get lucky tonight, but now..." He rolls off of Brendon and onto his side, but he's still smiling when Brendon's arms wrap around his waist.

"It's not just about the _seduction_ , Ross." Brendon kisses the back of Ryan's neck. "It's the music in my _soul_!" Then he starts to sing in a throaty baritone and Ryan has to roll over and kiss him again to shut him up.

He'll probably be doing that a lot from now on, but somehow, deep within his heart, he knows that's okay.


End file.
